Destiny on Ice
by SilverInk.IvoryQuill
Summary: AU/ They were figure skaters, they were champions- until they weren't anymore.When Phil Coulson asks his former partner May to help him train his crew, she reluctantly agrees under certain conditions. But will that be enough to go for Olympic Gold? Who will they meet on their journey? And what is the price for success?
1. Chapter 1

**Dear Inkdrops, celebrating the Figure Skating/Ice Dance World Cup I created this universe. While the majority of the characters are Marvel of some kind (therefore fictional, unfortunately) most of the dates and institutions are as correct. I changed the evolution of jumps drastically though, but hey, this is still fiction right? Still, I am not a skater myself so sorry for any accidental mistakes.**

**I'd love to know what you think!**

**Disclaimer I don't own Marvel **

* * *

**Chapter 1: Going for Gold**

2014 - N.Y. City

"And now, we see for the United States with her free skate to "Moulin Rouge" - Maria Hill! Trained by Nick Fury, she is the seven-times American champion, current world champion and second of the last Olympics, currently ranked second after her phenomenal short programme to the soundtrack of "Sweet Dreams"."

Grabbing the popcorn bowl tighter, I leaned back into the sofa cushions, my eyes glued to the screen as the young figure skater moved over the ice. She was captivating, expressive, sexy. One could see her love for the sport, the love she pourred into every movement, every perfectly clean jump. My heart ached - was it longing? Longing to be in her place, skate again? Hear the shouts of the audience, feel the rush of adrenaline in my veins, stand on the podium in the end? After a last triple jump, she came to a stop in the middle, falling to her knees in pure delight. It had been totally flawless! A slow grin spread over my face but I was still full of anticipacion, even as Hill recieved her incredibly high marks for technique and performance. She was hugging Nick tightly, tears in her eyes. I could understand her so well - Olympic Gold was basically in her reach. But there was still one obstacle to be overcome. An obstacle called Natalia Romanova.

"And here comes as last one, on home grounds at these Olympic Games in Sochi, Natalia Romanova! Eight-times Russian champion, current European champion and last Olympic Gold winner, she is only half a point before Hill after the short programme. Will this be enough to get her second Olympic gold medal today?"

Please make a mistake, please make a mistake! I was praying to all the Gods of Figure Skating, but apparently in vain. Romanova skated as perfectly as one could, not only doing triple jumps as the US contestants but one quadrouble toe loop too. A beautiful one to be precise. She was flying to some classical Russian piece of music I had never heard of and I would have thought gold to be lost for us - if there hadn't been the performance component. Sure, she gave the audience a show, but it didn't touch me. There wasn't the fire behind it that Maria had, I couldn't feel the passion, the power.

Apparently the judges felt the same way than I did - it was close, closer than I would have liked, but in the end gold went to Team Fury who lifted up his protégé, twirling her around. Showing so much affection was very very unsual for the one-eyed trainer and I must know - after all, I have been his star once. I have been America's star once. World champion and Olympic champion in single figure skating. World champion and Olympic champion in pair skating, too. Until I wasn't any more. The playing of the national anthem ripped me out of my thoughts and I saw the competitors stepping on the podium after hugging each other. Both bronze and silver were Russians, both from the same team, but only Romanova had done the quadrouble jumps. Belova had stuck to triples and had been outshone by the other two, easily. As usual, the two television comentators were giving a short resumé and replaying the highlights of the female figure skating before they would move on.

"So, what was your favourite free skate today?", one asked the other.

"Well Jackson, definitely "Moulin Rouge". But we knew that Nick Fury is a wizard when it comes to programmes and choreographies. Just think back to "Knocking on heaven's door", Melinda May's Olympia free skate 1992 in Albertville and her record short programme to a "James Bond medley". I think those will be my favourite. Forever. The first woman to jump a quad Lutz combined with a tripple toe loop. I have never seen the May-Combination ever since. And her expressive way of skating..."

"Someone has a crush!", the other reporter joked, "but you are right, she was wonderful. But also later in pair skating together with Phil Coulson. I have never seen a couple again with that kind of harmony. Summer and Grey come close, but they are ice dance and not figure skating, so it is hard to compare. But still, there have been some promising couples during the compitition the last few days! I think we can already get excited for next seaaon!"

"You are right! And I mean, like in the last years, Coulson was around as a trainer! Do you think May is going to join him tomorrow for the gala?"

"There is no official information about it, but we shall see. It would be a lovely gesture indeed!"

I huffed. Melinda May would definitely not join Coulson and his team tomorrow in Sochi. She would watch the show performances from home on TV and wonder why she tortured herself that way. Then she would get drunk and cry herself to sleep. I must know. After all, I was Melinda May.

The right thing to do now was probably to call Nick and Maria and congratulate them on her victory. I really didn't want to, the thought made me uneasy now and would make me feel even hollower afterwards. Nowadays I tried to avoid people from "before" as much as I could - especially my former partner, Phil. And my trainers, Nick Fury and Carol Danvers. Well, Carol wasn't that much of a problem. While I had stopped skating as such, I still was connected to it, working in administration for the American Figure Skating Association. Danvers however had turned her back to the rinks completely and broken off contact. No idea where she was. I am not sure anyone knew in 2014. That was probably the point if I think about it.

To procrastinate even more, I was watching all of the interviews the athletes and coaches were giving. That Russian lady who's girls had brought home silver and bronze was a real bitch, I was very sure she would give the skaters a very hard time. When they finally interviewed Maria, she showed the world again why she was nicknamed Ice Princess - not just because of her fabulous skills but also because of her sunny personality - that was not existent. At least to the public. She answered all questions matter of factly, but even though one could see her obvious delight, she kept her emotions quite at bay. It was such a difference to when she was skating, when she was pouring out her most intimate sentiments, touching souls. Some people gossiped that she was simply a very good actress, but I knew that the Miss Hill on ice was the real one. Why? Because I was so much the same. Or had been. Nowadays I didn't skate and nowadays I kept all my emotions carefully hidden. That didn't mean I didn't have any, far from it. I am not heartless and I wasn't back then - I was damaged. That is something different but most people don't seem to care.

"Miss Hill, I have heard there is something special about your skates!", the reporter mentioned, making her smile for the first time since she had started talking to the interviewer.

"Well yes", she said, suddenly seeming a bit like the young girl again that I had discovered at an public ice rink in Wisconsin ages ago. "They were Melinda May's. The one's she wore at the end of her solo career, for "Knocking on heaven's door". She said the "M" engraved in them could as well stand for my name, for the next Olympic Champion."

"Wow, this is quite a huge honour, coming from her!", the reporter said, clearly impressed, "so she is something like your idol?"

"For me, she is the best skater there has ever been and the one who influenced me the most. And without her I probably wouldn't be here."

Tears stung in my eyes at her praise and I was very happy that nobody could see me like this right now. But she was somehow right, without me she wouldn't have a medal around her neck now. After retiring, I had worked as a talent scout for a couple of years, simply because I needed the money. When I had found her, an ambitious, talented hobby skater, I had convinced her to give serious training a shot. And I had annoyed my former trainer so long until he agreed to at least see if he could make a champion out of her. Which he did. Which she became. Because of talent and discipline and love for the ice.

I had totally missed the rest of the interview and decided that now it was time for the call before they would start to party. I took out my phone and dialed Fury's number. It only rung once before I could hear is gruff voice, obvious delight in it thogh.

"May", he began, "so I guess you have heard the news."

"I guess so", I answered.

"Have you watched It? No, stupid question, I know you have. You are simply the best and biggest masochist I know."

Despite myself I had to smile a bit.

"I couldn't resist watching the duckling kick the Russians' asses. Also I wanted to know if she really would wear the skates."

Duckling was the nickname I had given Maria in the beginning, when she had still been kind of clumsy sometimes, and it had stuck. At least for Fury and me.

"Of course she was wearing the skates, stupid!", Nick chided me, "now, what do you think?"

"She has never been better. She is the Ice Queen. And Nick - I told you so", I couldn't resist adding.

"Just flatter yourself May", he huffed," but no, not the Queen. The Princess. The Queen is still you. So when are you going to claim back your fucking throne?"

"We had that topic. I am too old, I can't skate anymore, hell I haven't been on the ice for years, I don't have a partner, so fuck off. My time is over."

"Then tell me at least that girl- what do you make of the rest of the competition?", my ex-trainer changed topic, sounding somewhat defeated.

I considered the question for a moment.

"The Russians are in great shape, Romanova especially, she is technically the best, but as we have seen, lack of expression. Russian number two could become something. Hartley is retiring, rank 4 was great as a finish, the best she has ever done. Then there is the young Chinese kid. Daisy Johnson. Won everything in Asia but simply can't beat the Russians and Maria. She is too inexperienced but that will come, her technique will improve. Man, that girl will fly one day. She will jump quads we can't even imagine now, mark my words! But she skates as if she is afraid of herself, and that way she will never get the performance score that she needs for a medal. She is trained by her mother, Yiaying Johnson, you definitely remember her. Used to be one of my hardest competition. I think she got pretty bitter and is pushing the kid nearly as hard as the Russians are pushing their girls. This woman from Norway, Valkyrie Scrapper, she was great, too. So far behind after the short programm and then that. Nick, you should try get Romanova to the U.S. team. It sounds crazy, I know, but it would be worth a shot."

"You think?", he wanted to know, "why?"

"Because you want a challenge. Because she is great. Because she could be even better. I would say get Johnson and shape that little diamond, but you will never get her away from mommy. So Romanova it is."

I hadn't realized how much I had been talking, I simply had been carried away. I was definitely sending the wrong signals so I shut my mouth, waiting for Fury to go on.

"Melinda, you should train them, not me", he said laughingly, but I knew that bastard was only half joking.

Actually, I had considered it for a moment, but only for a moment. If watching competitions on TV was painful, training would rip my little heart out. Or what was left of it. No thanks!

"Get lost Nick and get ducky on the phone!", I just growled.

He sighed but obliged, I heard him call out in the background.

"May?", a female voice asked, "so you watched me?"

"Of course duckling, I simply enjoy being right", I answered, but I had to smile at her hopeful tone. "Right about the fact that you could be on top", I therefore added. "Maria... you were great", I added quietly. Saying more feeling-related stuff was definitely not possible for closed-off me.

"Thank you", she answered and I could easily imagine her smile right now.

Then suddenly Fury was back in the phone.

"I am sure you have watched the other competitions as well?", he rather stated than asked without further ado.

"Yeah, maybe. Why?" I had a feeling where this was going and I really wouldn't like it if I was right.

"Your honest thoughts about men's solo. Would you have predicted it?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Nick, do you really need a pat on the back? Of course your golden boy Rogers went and got first. And you were so lucky and you even got a medal with Barnes. Finally he stopped playing the drama queen and skated cleanly. Then that Norwegian guy with this L-name, Luke? No Loki! Only because he was disqualified there was this one spare place on the podium. I thought it would go to Japan right away. Or Germany could have made it as well, Kurt Wagner. His jumps are phenomenal!"

"What did you think about Clint Barton?"

"Barton?", I asked, yes, that was really dangerous territory. " Don't pretend, I know you are not only asking me this because he was the third U.S. contestant but also because he is Phil's. But to answer your question - lovely technique. Fit and strong. He has this emotional way of skating and that sells. And Phil was smart and used this in the choreography. But also, the hard truth, he still isn't as good as the rest. It is like...I don't know. The others are a bunch of super heroes and he is the guy from next door. Pretty talented but still kind of ordinary somehow. Don't get me wrong, I think he is good, really. But there is something missing, the pinch of salt kind of. 4th place at these Olympics was awesome for him but I am afraid he isn't podium material."

Phil had started training other skaters as soon as we stopped skating together and he got out of hospital, first as Fury's assistant. I guess it was like second nature to him. He simply had a way with people, to bring out the best in them. Like he had with me. Sure, Carol and then Fury had trained me, they had made me feel powerful. But Phil had been my partner, he had made me feel complete.

His skaters and couples had not been bad as such so far, but not the winners. This season, with Clint Barton in men's solo and Barbara Morse together with Grant Ward in pair figure skating he could have finally had a chance. If the others hadn't been in bestform. Ranks four and a bronze medal respectively for the members of his team at the last World Cup had made me hopeful . But as it had turned out during the last few days in vain, the competition had been hard and I still had serious concerns regarding the couple. He was good and she was good, really, but not together. The spark was missing. In my opinion. Also she was too tall to be a pair figure skater. That was everyone's opinion. Only Phil seemed to disagree, apparently.

"Phil could have had a shot with Ward/Morse. For Bronze. Gold would be going to the Canadians. That was clear from the beginning. Don't pretend, you hoped to win ice dance this year and you did. Wilson/Carter were in great shape. But honestly, it will be so awkward as Sharon Carter's aunt is training the British team that you just beat, isn't it?"

The Carter-Dilemma was one of the main topics in skating gossip these days: Peggy Carter, a very renown former ice dancer, was training one team, two very young skaters nicknamed Fitzsimmons. Her niece however had competed against them for the United States, trained by Nick Fury.

"Melinda, I really don't care about that! Carter's are both very professional", my former coach laughed, "and even though Morse and Ward weren't the best the US still got gold in the team akating event. But between us - Phil is thinking about quitting now. They didn't bring back an individual medal this year again, I don't know what he will do now."

For a moment I felt like I had been punched in the gut. That couldn't be! Phil wasn't a quitter. He wouldn't give up.

"You must be wrong!", I croaked.

"No, he told me himself. Listen, If, when, that happens.. May we are both realists we can see that it is on razor's edge. So in case he stops training, you know it will kill him. Slowly from inside."

Yes, I knew that, I knew him. He had loved skating as much as I did, and just look at me - I was already three parts dead inside. And still unable to pick myself up and do something about it.

"Girl, maybe you can't or don't want to help yourself. But promise me to help him when he needs you!"

How could I say no? There was basically nothing I wouldn't do for my former partner, even though we hadn't talked in so long.

"What so you want me to do?"

"Before he throws it away, he will ask you for help. He will try it one last time. Get your ass up and do it for fucks sake!"

Fury was probably right about that, so I just murmured an okay, despite hating myself for it. Then I hung up and turned off the TV. I was staring at the empty screen for the longest time, thinking about everything and about nothing. And in the end, I didn't even know what I was hoping for any more. That Phil would need me or that he wouldn't.

* * *

**In reality, the first female quad toe loop in competition was performed at the Junior Grand Prix in Armenia 2018, not in Sochi 2014, by Alexandra Trenova (Russia).**

**The first quad Lutz was performed not 1992 but 2014 by Alexandra Trenova (Russia), I don't know if a combination with a triple toe loop is possible. Probably not.**

**Maria Hill's performances are inspired by "Moulin Rouge" and "Sweet Dreams" by Ashley Wagner (2016 and 2017 respectively). Yelena Belova's performance is meant to be a bit like Adelina Sotnikova's free skate 2014.**

**I imagine May to have skated a lot like Yuna Kim. I also imagine her short programme to "James Bond" nearly exactly like hers, simply with a quad Lutz instead of a triple Lutz in it before the first triple toe loop.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for reading my story!**

**Disclaimer I don't own Marvel**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Only one call away**

The next day, a Monday, I did something I usually did not do - calling in sick even though I wasn't. But firstly, I was feeling like shit, I was an emotional wreck and I knew I would be for the next few days. Not even my Thai Chi routine did help. Secondly, I hadn't slept at all last night and would not be able to concentrate anyway. So I ended up sitting on my couch again in my sleeping shirt, going through some work related absolutely boring administration crap, while at the same time checking fans' reactions on Twitter and co.

No surprise, Steve Rogers was the fan-favourite, everybody's darling. Besides very good looks, he had been graced with incredible talent and he had been nicknamed "Captain America", slightly ridiculous in my opinion. Fury's other protégé, James "Bucky" Barnes, had been named the "Winter Soldier" - that was kind of fitting. Of course he was much too young for me, same as Rogers, but I was damaged, not dead, and could admit that he was indeed striking with his bad-boy charme. He had a reputation as a ladies' man, the total opposite to his best friend Steve who somehow had avoided all relationship-related gossip so far. A couple of years ago I had come up with the theory that he must be sleeping with Hill, they had quite a bit in common. So far, my theory hadn't been proven.

Finally, after getting myself a glass of Scotch, I decided to stream Phil's contestants' performances again. My judgement about Barton didn't change, however when I was watching Ward and Morse, I realized they did not only lack any emotional connection, they seemed to obviously dislike each other. Some cheesy break-off-song would have fit a thousand times better than the soft, classical piece Coulson had chosen for them. It was beautifully choreographed - and wasted on the couple.

Sighing, I stopped watching, wondering for the at least hundredth time if I should call my former partner and simply ask how he was feeling. I could do that, right, without coming across all creepy? Well, maybe it would be weird, after all we hadn't seen each other in person for nearly eight years if I remembered correctly, it had been Maria's twentieth birthday. Last time we had talked on the phone had probably been in 2012 when I had congratulated him to his engagement to Audrey. They must be married by now. On the other side, I had not seen a ring in his finger when they had shown the coaches on TV. I don't know why that seemed so important, but somehow it did. Maybe because my own marriage had gone downhill so fast after the Olympic Games 2002 and I got divorced two years later. Of course he knew, considerate as always he had called me as soon as he had found out. (Fury had told him I guess. I still don't know.) The only thing I wanted, and of course still want for him, is to be happy. That is probably why I would consider training youngsters with him, if it meant something to him. To keep my distance, I had only send text messages to congratulate him to the success at the World Cup this year, he had responded in kind.

When suddenly the phone next to me on the couch rang, I nearly jumped in shock, nearly expecting it to be Phil. But the caller ID showed my mom. Sighing, I took the call.

"Qialian, why are you on your phone?", she asked instead of a greeting, "shouldn't you be at work?"

I simply gave an annoyed sound in response, waiting for the inevitable rant to come.

"So I guess you are not at your desk but at home. You have watched ice skating the last couple of days and now you are depressed. Am I right?" She didn't even let me answer. "Matter of factly, I watched it too. As you are aware I know a couple of things about it - I liked the Chinese mix-girl but she looked so scared. But you know that already. Anyway. Phil's couple doesn't match. Even your father could see that. So what are you going to do about it?"

Wait, my parents had been watching it TOGETHER if I understood correctly! They had been divorced for decades, but apparently things can come around.

"Ma, what do you want me to do about it?", I asked annoyed. This wasn't her business! "I can't force them to like each other!"

"No, but you can find them both suitable partners. And coach that Barton guy. God knows, Phil and you together would be one of the best trainer teams that have ever been. Maybe only second to Fury and Danvers."

I huffed. "And you know what happened to Fury and Danvers. Same that happened to Phil and me. Accident. She was responsible for him loosing his eye. I was responsible for him loosing his hand. They went separate ways. She trained me, he trained Phil. Then they trained us together, but in the end it got so bad that she simply disappeared."

"But before that, they had made champions out of you. And more importantly even, if I say so, they had found two puzzle pieces that matched."

Oh wow, Ma was really poetic today! Must be Dad's influence. But she was right in a way.

"Ma, what happens if I go back and the same happens like with Nick and Carol? That we end up hating each other and make everything worse?"

I knew I sounded desperate, but after all this was my mother who was very difficult but still stood by me. She seemed to consider that for a moment.

"Well, than I guess you will make at least one champion on the way."

Somehow this dry analysis helped me more than any sweet words, making me feel ready to face Phil. Or at least as ready as I would be, given the circumstances. After I had ended the call with my mother, I took some deep breaths. I still had Coulson's number on speed dial and I used it before I could change my mind. I had to wait and to wait and was already going to hang up, when I heard a horrible noise on the mobile connection. Then it cleared again.

"Mel?", a familiar voice said, making me breathe out in relief. He still sounded like he used to.

"Hey!", was all I got out, more timidly than I would have liked. His next sentence was unexpected.

"It's good to hear your voice", he said, sounding totally honest.

"Yeah", I just answered.

I might not have sounded convincing, but I really meant it.

"So I guess you will be the first one to know", he began, causing dread to roll in my stomach, "that I will stop training my three skaters. Barton is probably going to Fury and Ward and Morse either to Gonzales or to Garrett. If they stay together at all."

So that was it. What I had feared. That he would give up.

"Phil, you can't give up!", I protested, "they were quite good, the talent is there, you can make them even better! Just give them a bit more time!"

I heard him sigh, if he had already prepared himself for that kind of conversation.

"But they don't bring back medals", he objected then, his voice suddenly hard, sounding so much colder than I was used to.

It shocked me, when had he become like that?

"That is not true!", I argued again, "you won medals at the American championships. And now they even brought you a bronze medal at the last World Cup!"

"Not Olympia though", he answered, still sounding icy, "only a Team Medal there for Morse and Ward, and that was mainly because of Fury's people."

No, not Olympic Games, that was true. They would always hold a special place in a athlete's heart.

"Do the three want to stay with you?", I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the problem.

"Yes, at least Clint and Bobbi. Ward isn't so sure yet."

Okay, Bobbi must be what they called Barbara Morse.

"But if they want to stay with you, why not indulging them? Do you have something better to do?", I wanted to know, provoking him on purpose.

"Why would you suddenly care anyway", he sneered in a totally un-Phil-like way, "you didn't bother until now. Besides, it is not as if I see YOU train anyone. No, you chose to run."

It felt as if he had stabbed me in the chest, in the eight years we had trained together he had hardly ever been that mean to me. And he was right, on top of that. About the not-training-thing. Definitely not about the not-caring!

"I have always cared Phil! But you didn't need me. And I don't want to train because it hits too close to home."

"Well smartass, that is where you are wrong!", he barked, "I did need you! I always have! And I miss you every god-damn day I stand next to the rink. And now even more. I am simply not meant to be at Olympic Games without you. I lost my left hand because of the accident but I lost my right hand too because you left me! After years I finally got used to the hand, but I guess I will never get used to you not being around, it is crazy and pathetic! You know that when we were skating, I never needed the medals, they were only a nice extra. Because I had you! Now they became so important cause you are gone and not coming back!"

Normal, people would probably either start to cry or faint at this display of ... affection. Or at least passion and elation. Not me though. I was just sitting there, face passive as stone, while my thoughts did fucking backflips in my brain. It seemed as if I had to do what I was afraid of - at least it was worth a try. Maybe now was the time to be brave. At last.

"And what if I came back? Did the whole thing with you?", I asked quietly.

The line was so silent that I thought for a moment he had hung up on me.

"You would do that?", he finally asked, his voice moved, though I couldn't quite decipher what it was that I was hearing. Hope? Disbelief?

"You know I don't talk nonsense!", I chided him, "but yes, I would. Under some conditions of course."

"And those are?", he asked, suddenly sounding unsure.

"I don't think this is a conversation to have over the phone while you are thousands of miles away and you should be busy getting your team in line for the expo in three hours!", I argued.

"Mel, if this wasn't under those circumstances, we wouldn't even have this conversation, right?", he simply commented, "and I have ten minutes before the others come back from their lunch. So tell me, what do you want?"

I rolled my eyes even if I knew he couldn't see me. I really would have preferred saying that to his face but well, I couldn't be picky right now and I couldn't back off.

"Okay, so firstly, you don't tell anyone I am training your team. I don't want people to talk."

After the accident, I had had enough press for a lifetime. Hard to imagine I had kind of liked attention early on in my life, even though I would have never admitted it. My façade had always been that of the Ice Queen, quite indifferent to fame, focussed on success. Well, I actually had rather been focussed on giving my best than being the best, the importance of medals had faded a bit over the 16 years of my career, after I had won my first World Cup medal at the age of 14.

"Secondly, I am going to help you train them, but I am not going to go on the ice. No skating. And don't even think about trying to weedle me into it!"

I seriously had not been on skates for almost 16 years. If I could still do it? Probably, after all, muscle memory should kick in. I was still fit, fitter than probably some of the 20-year-old skaters. Martial arts did definitely help with it. My therapist aka ex-husband had recommended it as an outlet for aggressions- sometimes it worked. Also, the floor was padded and not as hard as the ice. Falling didn't hurt that much. Even after quitting figure skating, I had never quitted ballet. Maybe because I liked it, or to stay flexible, or to ridiculously hold on to something from "before". From time to time I found myself automatically ending up in "Biellmann-pose", standing on one leg with the other one bend backwards over my head, held in both hands. I used to be able to do it with both legs, now only the right one still worked easily. I wondered if Phil was still skating.

"I know that you are training in this weird little town in Michigan, Providence. You probably know I am living in New York at the moment. I will have to quit my job and move, I guess, so thirdly, I am not going to live together with three kids when two obviously don't like each other. And don't even try to deny that! I need my own place, I am not used to being around people anymore."

Fury had told me that Phil's group had a big house there, where the athletes were living, next to a private ice rink. It was sponsored by a billionaire, playboy and philantropist whose mother had been a show skater. His father Howard had supported me once and still sponsored Team Fury, they were training in a facility in upstate New York, rather close to Team Xavier in Westchester.

"Alright, I accept your terms", my former (and apparently new) partner answered without hesitation. "Housing situation is a bit difficult in Providence at the moment as it is so small, but if you don't want to stay at the playground, you could stay at my place until we find you something for your own."

Playground? Interesting choice of name. Anyway, the prospect of living with Coulson, even if only for a short time, made me unsure. I mean, we had lived together for a couple of years, after we had started pair figure skating and before things between Andrew and me got serious and we moved in together. But that had been in another life. Would we still get along?

"I think you should ask Audrey first!", I objected.

After all, he had a fiancé or wife that he should consort. They definitely lived together, I was sure about that.

"Audrey?", he sounded confused. Then, he seemed to realize something. "Oh, you don't know. Audrey and I separated. Also she never lived with me permanently in Providence. Not the kind of place for a cellist." His voice was a bit sad. "So if you are interested, I have a spare bedroom. The house is tiny, really, but should do for two people."

Suddenly there were voices in the background, one male and one female, chatting. Then another man intervened, dark voice and all, cutting them off.

"Alright then, I've got to go", Phil said, "I will call you when we are back to sort out the details ."

"Yes, okay", I answered.

Before I hung up, the last thing I heard was Coulson telling the others that whoever he had talked to was none of their business. He was right though, they would find out soon enough. If we would manage to organise everything like reasonable adults.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**If you want to know what I mean with "Biellmann-pose", just Google "Biellmann spin".**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for your interest in this story!  
I messed around with the age of the characters, I made most of the characters younger than they are in the movies/real life.  
Here are the most important ones:  
May is born in 1970  
Coulson in born in 1969  
Fury is born in 1958 and Carol in 1960.  
Hill and Rogers are both born 1986, Barnes 1985, Barton and Hunter both 1987, Romanoff and Morse 1988, Fitzsimmons 1995 and Daisy 1998.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Providence**

As it turned out, Phil and I managed to get on the same page fairly quickly. I also found that my now-ex-boss Alexander Pierce apparently hadn't been attached to me that much. He had accepted my resignation without any questions or batting an eyelash. My mother had been delighted, or as delighted as my mother could be, after all, I wasn't the only one in my family that had a problem with showing feelings. When I was sitting in my black pick-up, driving for the second day in a row, I let my thoughts wander. Last night I had stopped in a small motel somewhere around Pittsburgh, the hostess had eyed the boxes in my car suspiciously. Well, even though I had decided to keep my apartment in NYC, I was moving after all. I had never been a sentimental person, collecting trinkets and little antiquities had always been Coulson's thing, so I only brought my clothes, two framed photos, general necessities and a small amount of homewear. I would buy the rest somewhere in Michigan when I found my own place, I'd probably have to drive all the way to Detroit, but well.

Finally I passed the sign saying "Welcome to Providence" and drove into the direction of the town centre. It was the cliché of a sleepy, half-forgotten venue, not a lot of stores and not a lot of people around. One would definitely not have expected a professional private ice rink somewhere around here. Slowly I was getting excited as I followed Google Maps the last couple of hundered metres and came to a stop in front of a white house.

As Phil had described it to me, it was indeed tiny, with a white fence around the garden. Last night's snow was covering everything in the front, so I couldn't see whether there were flower beds beneath the white coat. Under the window which I presumed was the kitchen window, there were two cleanly cut bushes with white powdery caps and a small tree also stood in front of the house. Maybe an apple tree? Or cherry?

Finally, I took a deep breath and got out of my warm and cosy car and into the frosty air. It was still freezing cold, even though it was early March spring seemed to be far away. I quickly put on my puffer jacket (black, like most of my clothes) and made my way to the door. White clouds formed in front of my mouth while I regarded the polished white wood with the "Welcome"-sign hanging from a nail. It was a bit cheesy but somehow also kind of cute. I rang the door bell, hearing the melodious sound even through the wood. Then there were quiet steps. People who didnt know Phil always had been surprised about how light he was on his feet, I knew it was from the year-long ballet training that he had had to endure. Thank you Fury. Then, the door opened and he stood in front of me.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say (that's nothing new my mother would argue. My ex-husband too, by the way). Before an awkward silence could develop between us, he took a step forward and pulled me into a hug. Normally, I really am not one for physical contact but there are some people I used to make an exception for. Andrew. And Phil. Always him. Well, that probably comes from the fact that while we were pair figure skating, he had to touched me on far more intimate places to hold me up in certain lifts. However, back then it never got erotic in any kind, we were far to concentrated for that. Still, it lowered my guard. So when he held me tight now, my arms closed around him without me actually thinking about it, my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, much too fast, like after a performance, but mine was just as erratic, so who was I to judge?

"Good to see you," he murmured.

I pulled away, looking him up and down. The hair was shorter now and he had less of it as well - not a surprise, we werent 24 any more after all. Lines had appeared around his eyes, smiling lines I realised. It looked attractive in an odd way, at least to me, the blue eyes as sparkling and striking as they had always been. I saw genuine happiness in them, it made the weight in my chest lift a bit. But there was also a tiredness written all over his face that hadn't been there last time I had seen him. He was wearing jeans and a blue sweater and apparently hadn't gained weight - someone was still working out, I realized with a weird strike of satisfaction.

"Do I pass the test?" he asked me, smirking, even though there seemed to be a bit of insecurity in it too.

Of course he had noticed my look, he was a very perceptive man. Had always been. I think that together with his big heart made him a good trainer. Well, even though he didn't think so, I was convinced he was, after all Fury had picked him as his second in 2003 for a couple of seasons.

"You do," I said, smiling a bit, "you look good."

"You look better!" he replied smoothly.

Years ago I would have smacked him on the head for a comment like that, but I guessed we were far over that in 2014. Still the compliment was nice, I have to admit that.

"I guess you have everything in the truck?" Phil wanted to know and I nodded, "okay, then it's probably best if we carry it in now before it starts to snow again."

Together, it didn't take us more than four tours to get everything into the house, but I still needed to untie my baby from its place on the pick-up. My baby being a black motor bike that I now stored in Coulson's garage, at least for the time being. It felt lovely being inside in the warmth of the house where it already smelled like dinner. Did he have something in the oven?

"Okay, I better give you the tour of the house now," he told me after we had shrugged off jackets and shoes. "Living room and kitchen are on the bottom floor, together with a toilet. Our rooms and the bathroom are on the first floor."

The kitchen was opening up to the living area, making everything seem more spacious than it actually was. There was a blue couch in front of a flat screen TV, sideboards with framed photos on top and hanging on the wall above them and more shelves full of books and DVDs occupied most of one wall. The table was standing in the middle in between kitchen and living room, looking somehow a bit random there, but it still felt cosy. Cosier than my apartment that was dominated by clear lines and shades of grey (ha, pun intended and no, I am not kinky).

"Lasagna is in the oven, if you want you could start to unpack while I set the table and stuff," Phil offered.

I agreed and started to carry my things upstairs, one box after the other. My workout was therefore settled for that day, that was for sure. The room was small, what else could one expect, but definitely big enough for me. I wondered what it had been before - maybe his office? Now I had a wardrobe, a queen-size bed, a nightstand with a lamp and a desk with a chair in front of it. Nothing matched the other, while the wardrobe was white with a huge mirror attached to it, the bed had quite a romantic flair with the iron headboard. All the rest was made from brown wood of different sorts. Somehow it didn't bother me so much, there was something comforting in the chaos. Suddenly, I heard Phil behind me with a box in his hands.

"This is the last one," he said, " all the other ones are marked "homewear". We can store them under the stairs in the little cupboard."

I nodded my thanks while he carefully but down the box, marked with some kanji signs, on the desk.

"You have learned," I commented.

He laughed out loud. "Believe me, I don't want THAT to happen again!"

* * *

**_Flashback - Summer 1992, Somewhere in Upstate N.Y._**

_When Carol had told me I had to move to New York, I had been happy. At first. I had assumed she meant New York City. Which she didn't. She had meant New York fucking State! I hadn't been so happy then. I mean, I came out of a little town nobody bothered to remember the name. Then I had lived (and trained) in Detroit since I was about 14 so hey, I was basically a city girl! I was used to going shopping whenever I liked it. To traffic noise and neon lights. Not to trees and too much grass and this... nothingness!_

_For the hundredth time I was asking myself whether that had been the right decision, ending my career as a solo figure skater when I was at my best, at the age of 22 with two Olympic medals in my pocket, one silver and one gold. I was on top of the world, I could have done at least four years more before retiring. And now I was jeopardizing my reputation for... what? The chance of maybe being adequate as a couple. With a guy I barely knew. Sure. we had met for trainings and we had been great. A feeling that is hard to explain - like puzzle pieces clicking. I knew that if I risked it with anyone, it would be him. Actually, I also had considered all advantages and disadvantages and in the end decided to give it a shot. The main reason had probably been my curiosity - if I wanted to try it, now was the time. He was looking for a partner and if it didn't work out, I could always go back to being a single skater._

_In Detroit, I had still lived with my parents. That probably sounded weird, but considering I was training eight hours a day and my parents both were working full time, we didn't see that much from each other anyway. Also, sponsoring wasn't that big for me. My parents could afford my career, but not exactly a flat on my own. Also it was nice not to have to cook for myself when I came home totally tired after a day of torture by Ms Danvers. Therefore I really sucked at preparing meals, honestly the most sophisticated thing I would have managed were probably pancakes. I wasn't allowed pancakes, obviously, athlete's diet and all. It would be kind of nice to be away from my mom's constant nagging and pushing and sarcastic comments though, but I would have to live together with my new partner. At least that was what I had been told. The training facility in New York was huge and modern and included a huge ice rink and living quaters. Pretty much like a boarding school really, or a college, but without the canteen. I had seen the kitchen at my last visit, nice and spacious, and there was a huge living room and a study room with library and a gym and a swimming pool with a spa area and all around a huge garden with basketball and volleyball courts and oviously dorm rooms for all of us athletes. I think Carol would move into one of the extra apartments on the second floor. No clue where Fury lived, but I guessed I would find out soon I enough._

_Besides Philip (my partner, obviously) and me, there would be some other skaters living and training there as well. Only men though. A guy called John Garrett, another one called Holden Radcliffe and the last one called Glenn Talbot. I wasn't really worried about that, my mother had thought me from early on how to defend myself, physically and verbally. I also wasn't big on making friends, I had had a few in school but because of training, "human relationships" had always come second. _

_The drive was long, flying had been a lot more convenient, but this way I could bring my motorbike and we could also bring our stuff for moving in straight away. I somehow also liked this solitude I felt while I was on the road, alone in my car, with only the radio music keeping me company. My dad had offered me to come with me and help me with the moving, but I had politely declined. I was old enough to do that on my own, really! When I was pulling up in front of the huge building, I could already see Carol's striking black Porsche in front of it. She loved fast cars, not that I could blame her. While I was searching for a spot for my little pale blue car including trailer, I eyed the other vehicles. Mostly SUV's, grey or black, but in the corner in a carport, there was one car standing that was completely different to the others: A cabrio, maybe a Corvette or something, strikingly red and somehow looking a bit antique. But it was cute. Who did it belong to? Definitely not Fury, I was sure about that! I had only seen him for a short time, but with his eyepatch, he really didn't seem like the guy for shiny colourful cars._

_Finally I could walk towards the front door, as Carol didn't seem to be around, I decided to ring. Surprisingly quickly the door was opened, revealing a young blonde - brown-haired man with a Robert Redford- 70s-hairstyle. A bit retro if you asked me but it looked cute, somehow. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt that matched his eyes, funny how I noticed that so quickly. But okay, he had very pretty eyes after all, and a very nice smile that he was currently flashing at me as if we were the best of friends. We were partners now, not friends, so I was a bit overwhelmed. I smiled back, as far as I remember, probably looking rather tortured._

_"Hi, come in!" he said, "your trainer is already upstairs and unpacking. So what do you want to do now? Sit down first or unpack straight away?"_

_That was a good question actually, one I had not given any thought to before. But if Carol was already busy, maybe I should be too._

_"I think I will carry my stuff up first," I replied, "you might have to tell me my room number again."_

_"As far as I know it is the one next to mine, but the rooms here don't have numbers," he commented, "but no worries the guys will probably find you a nickname or two and write them on your door. It will get really sleazy and probably have to do with getting in your pants, be warned! __Do you want me to help you with carrying stuff up to your room?"_

_Despite my general awkwardness I had to laugh about the report about his mates, I could handle quite a bit being thrown at me. And offering help was nice, but could I accept it without seeming weak? Damn, I had so few experience with this! I mean, I had briefly dated some guys before, but never moved in in the same house with one._

_"Uhm thanks," I finally agreed and he nodded cheerfully._

_"Alright, shall we then?"_

_So went back to my car and then into the big, warm building. While we were walking up the metall and glass stairs I could faintly hear voices somewhere, maybe in a living room down the hall or in the kitchen. While there was no carpet downstairs, all the corridors on the first floor were lined with plush navy/grey fabric that swallowed the sounds of our steps. Black-and-white pictures of ice skaters were hanging on the white walls, no snapshots but definitely professionally done. They were stunning. Once again the whole building felt more like a hotel than like a house were people were living in permanently, where I would be living in permanently - It was so modern and clean-cut, all sharp and edges. All me, if I thought about it. At least according to the public. They didn't have to know that deep inside, I also quite harboured a love for retro-stuff._

_"This is our corridor," my partner said laughingly, "the other ones live in the other wing. There are only three rooms -well, suites as you know - down here. Mine, yours and one spare one."_

_I saw a note pinned to his door, the one we passed first, saying "Old-school". It hadn't been there last time I had been at the facility. Then we stopped in front of my new room, or rather rooms, and I somehow managed to open the door without even setting down the box I was carrying. _

_"Put the stuff on the table over there!" I advised Phil, only to be spooked by the sound of something breaking._

_I turned around as quickly as I could, nearly dropping my box, to run over where Phil was looking very confused._

_"What did you break?" I hissed, "I mean it says 'Be careful!', doesn't it?!"_

_He looked at me a bit quizically. _

_"You know I can't read Kanji, do you?" he asked carefully._

_I sighed. Of course he couldn't, but still he could have been careful, right? I opened the carton and nearly burst into tears - one of my three Chinese teacups were broken, another one severely chipped _

_"Oh fuck I am so sorry, I didn't mean - " Phil started. _

_I guess I shoot him down with a teary glare, I don't remember. I only remember that I felt some deep resentment against him._

* * *

Phil, me and hot drinks always had made an interesting combination - he hated chai and I hated coffee but over the years we had gotten used to the other one's tastes. And he had gotten used to my Chinese china I think.

"Any new pieces in your collection?" he wanted to know, "you can put them downstairs in the kitchen on one of the shelves."

I nodded my thanks, if he offered then I might as well take him up on it.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Btw: The teacup will make an appearance again ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Dear Inkdrops, finally I am back. :)  
I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Just the visitor**

The next mornig, I woke up at 5, as usual, to do my Tai Chi routine. I usually don't even need an alarm, but nevertheless I always set one. And, a thing most people wouldn't expect, even if I wake up earlier, I only do get up when it rings. No need to spare my body some much needed physical rest. So when this annyoing average ringing sound chimed through the room, I rolled my eyes just to flip my blanket back and sit down on my bed. Back in the day, I had used different wake-up tones. Then I had used my favourite songs (yes, I do like music!) but never our workout or programme tunes. I would listen to them often enough in training. But after all that had happened, the less personal, pre-recorded sounds suited me better.

No need to say, I hadn't slept very well, it was firstly because of the strange, unknown environment and secondly because I knew that Phil was sleeping in the room next to me. Just as he had for such a long time.

Last night, I had mostly finished unpacking and then we had talked at his kitchen table. It had gone surprisingly well, all things considered, no arguing, no bitching, just us. As if nothing had changed. Maybe because we were pretending it was like that, even though we knew it was a lie. We hadn't dwelled on the past, we had discussed pressing topics - like training plans, timetables, scores and choreographies.

Yes, Phil was super organized, still it had only taken me about five minutes to figure out that he needed a second pair of hands, that he couldn't do this alone. Not anymore. The last years had taken a toll on him too, and some moments, when his carefully painted mask slipped, I could see how close he was to burning out.

* * *

**_Flashback - Summer 1992, Somewhere in Upstate N.Y._**

_I was the first one in the kitchen that morning, at least I hoped so. After the night before I had no desire to talk to my partner yet. By breaking my cup he had fucked up big time.  
Food had to be stored somewhere, so I rummaged the cupboards and the fridge for cereals and some milk, while brewing my tea. I left the box with teabags there on one of the shelves with a big sign on it saying "Melinda May. Keep your hands off!" As nobody was there yet to critizise me, I hopped onto the kitchen counter with my bowl on my lap, happy to have this better point of view. My thoughts were already at today's training, Carol had told me that we would have a kind of pep-talk first. I hated too much talking. It was annoying. After the long drive yesterday I was itching to be on the ice rink again._

_Suddenly I saw movement in the door._

_"Oh hey, good morning!" I heard Phil's voice._

_He sounded friendly, if not a bit unsure, as if he didn't know how to deal with me. Guess what, that happened to most people. It still does. Same with Fury and same with Maria. I didn't know her back in 1992 of course. I only gave him a court nod and didn't make any motion to move down from my seat. He didn't comment on it though, simply started making coffee. I probably scrunched my nose at the smell because he suddenly looked at me questionly._

_"You don't like coffee?" he asked._

_I only answered with very fake throwing up sounds. Grinning slightly, he shrugged his shoulders while made himself a peanutbutter-jelly-sandwich. My eyes widened._

_"Fury lets you eat this?!" I exclaimed._

_"Well, he doesn't always control what we have in the fridge so I think I am good," Phil answered, "also, you are eating cereals if I am not mistaken so don't bullshit me!"_

_He kind of had a point so I went on with my breakfast in icy silence. I was just cleaning my bowl when it sudddenly got loud and three young men came in, all still looking a bit ruffled_

_"Ah good morning Coulson! And here we have our new sweetheart!" one of the dark-haired dudes leered._

_"Shut the fuck up Garrret!" Phil barked, which was kind of nice. Until I reminded myself that I needed no man to stand up for me._

_On the other hand, the short exchanged had made one thing clear: Like in most scenarios, they used the last names here, contrary to Carol who called me "Melinda" since she had started training me when I was still quite young. _

_"I saw Fury earlier, he said meeting in 20" a slightly shy-looking man, Radcliffe if I remembered correctly, told us, so after I had gone back to my room to get ready, I met the others in a what looked suspiciously like a conference room or office. _

_Fury and Carol were sitting at the heads of the table with us skaters on the sides, Coulson and me next to each other facing the other three.  
The first part was as expected - rules: What to eat. What not to eat. Where to go. Where not to go. What to do. What not to do. And all the time we could see on our trainers' faces that they knew we would break those rules. Big time. Then we got our schedules as we wouldn't only be on the ice rink. As usual, cardio, strengh and ballett training would also be part of our weekly routines. So far, nothing surprising.  
_

_"And now, Garrett, Radcliffe and Talbot, cardio, 3km and the training with the personal trainer. Coulson, May, you two on the ice rink in 15."_

* * *

After I had finished with my morning-training, I went downstairs for breakfast. Phil wasn't up yet, but he had told me the night before just to help myself. As I am a nice person, I even made coffee for him. Contrary to all those years ago however, I sat down at the dining table to have my cereals. I checked any incoming messages on my phone, there were only two: One from my dad (and therefore probably from my ma who knows that I generally don't reply to her as quickly as to him) and one from Fury who basically thanked me without actually being nice or saying thank you. That is one of his specialities.

"Hmm coffee!" Phil suddenly said, making me jump a bit. I really should pay more attention to my surroundings.

He took a big sip from his now-filled mug with a horrible Grumpy Cat on it.

"The skaters should be doing their daily workout at the moment, running mainly. A bit of weight lifting too. I will head over to the rink in a minute and then meet them there. Are you still planing to sneak in, just watch at first, see what they are like in traaining?"

I nodded. "Yes, just as I said last night. I don't want them to feel judged. For now."

Truth be told, I was also bloody nervous as to how they would react to the prospect of me training them. As I always had been used to, Phil seemed to know what I thought without me having to voice it. He smiled.

"Don't you worry, they will feel honored. I am also pretty certain that Ward is harbouring an immense crush on you anyway."

I scrunched my nose. "Let's hope not! I remember your man-crush on Fury. That was something I don't want to witness again!"

Now it was his time to look scandalized. "Man-crush? Me? Never!"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," I murmured while getting ready to rinse my dishes.

Up in my room, I was debating in what to wear. Ice rinks are cold after all, especially when you are not skating. In the end I chose black jeans and a black fleeze shirt. Down again, Phil was already getting ready to leave while I was still gathering some useful things.

"I trust you know how to get to the rink. Please lock the door behind you when you leave!" He called out, "oh and by the way - the only person I ever had a crush on was you!"

Then he rushed out of the room, leaving me standing there, totally confused. He had had a crush on me? At least he had just said so. But he was just messing with me. Yes, it must be that. Resolutely I nodded to myself before putting on shoes. I grabbed my backpack and car keys and, after carefully locking the house, headed to my car. Getting to the rink was easy, I had looked up and memorised the way in advance. Only Phil's car was parked in front of it so I left mine there too. He hadn't told me where to enter so I tried the main door which, unsurprisingly, was unlocked.

The entrance hall was small, nothing like the boisterous one where we had trained and very painfully obvious not decorated with as many trophies. Sure, there were some, but most of the golden ones were only from small regional competitions. But there were also silver and bronze from big ones, Grand Prix, World Cup and now Olympics. Phil had started something good here, I could see that. More than he saw it himself, probably. Suddenly I stopped in front of a framed black and white photography of a skater in mid-jump. It was a training shot, obviously, as she was not wearing a costume, but pants and a shirt. Her pose, her posture, I could see it was perfect. That she was perfect. I didn't know who that was, but I made a mental note to ask Phil about her later.

From somewhere I could hear the faint sound of skates grazing the ice. Then there were muffled voices. I followed them through the corridors to a glass door. Behind it, I could see the rink. Taking a deep breath, I walked in, hoping not to disturb the skaters. It seemed to work, nobody had seen me entering. While Barton was currently performing a triple toe loop, quite smoothly even, while Ward and Morse were matching their strides to fall in pace for their routine. Phil stood with the back to me, supervising. He had not heard me yet and I took a moment to observe him. Standing there next to and not on the ice, one wouldn't have thought he had been a figure skating champion once. But the way he was following every movement the others made, the critical expertise I could spot from metres away gave him away as someone who knew what he was doing.

"Barton, higher! You can go higher!" he called over to the younger man, "Ward, Bobbi, start again! I can tell already it is not going to be a good one!"

Yep, I could tell that too. Though I doubted the next one would be much better. That was simply an air of negativity they didn't seem to shake off. Quietly I walked closer until I stood behind him.

"The toe loop wasn't half bad," I commented, delighted when Phil jumped in surprise.

"May, you scared me!" he huffed, "but you can also see he could do more with it."

I hummed in acknowledgement while Ward and his partner started their routine. At least they managed to transport their feelings individually now if not as a couple. Then all the three skated closer, obviously curious about me. Barton seemed to recognize me first and gave me a delighted smile whereas Bobbi looked as if she might faint and Ward only frowned.

"Guys, this is my former partner Melinda May. She is -"

"Just the visitor," I cut off the induction.

The black-haired man looked at me quizically.

"Melinda May is just the visitor?"

"It is an honour Ma'am," the blonde woman shut him up, shooting him a dirty look before smiling at me.

"Now, back to work," Phil ordered and they actually complied, leaving me to my observations.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! What do you think?**


End file.
